OMG! TMZ has released a SHOCKING video of Miley Cyrus grinding hard on a homosexual man more than twice her age!

Behold the then-16-year-old back against 44-year-old Adam Shankman at the Last Song wrap party in Georgia:

Everyone freak out! A teenager is acting like a teenager. SO SHOCKING.

(If this classifies as distributing child pornography, we apologize in advance. We do not support illegal activity however illogical we may find the notion that a 16-year-old can make choices with a moving ton of steel capable of killing people, but not her own body, etc.)

Images and information from — who else? — our favorite scandal mongers over at TMZ.

The Wold Cup will bring some 400,000 people to South Africa this June. Mostly male, the soccer fans attract a specific sort of service provider: the sex worker. According to South Africa’s Drug Central Authority, some 40,000 sex workers will be arriving as well from all over the world.

Henry Africa, 49, drives a taxi in Cape Town and, aside from the usual airport pickups and winery tours, he also operates the “Bright Red Tour,” which he expects to be a hit among soccer fans. For the equivalent of 500 dollars, he’ll shuttle customers from strip bar to strip bar all night and even bring them over to a safe-sex practicing prostitute, a relevant selling point in a country where one in five adults are estimated to be HIV positive.

Despite jolly preparations for the rowdy futbol fanatics, the tourism board of the Cape tourism board has issued a code to try to curb sex tourism and AIDS awareness campaigns have been launched.

Even the president. Jacob Zuma, who is a polygamist with four wives and father of at least 20 children, asked the United Kingdom to supply 1 billion extra condoms to South Africa before the tournament. Britain to date has sent 42 million condoms, “a number sufficient to supply almost every citizen of South Africa with one condom or every tourist expected to travel there with one hundred,” according to the Global Post.

In this instance, it’s not just joga bonito. It’s play safe, too.

Image created by us using the South Africa 2010 FIFA World Cup logo. Information from the Global Post.

Ah, welcome to the future of porn! Presenting… 3-D glasses? Really? Yes. This Friday, Playboy magazine will include a set of 3-D glasses. (Scroll down for a NSFW pic!)

“What would people most like to see in 3-D?” asked Playboy‘s inimitable Hugh Hefner. “Probably a naked lady.”

Hef’s pretty real about this gimmick. The publication’s readership has been in steady decline, going from 3.15 million in 2006 to 1.5 million today. He knows people have been raving about flicks like Avatar and How to Train Your Dragon which employ this technology and this is a way for the rag to get in on the action. Jimmy Jellinek, the magazine’s editorial director agrees: “In today’s print environment you have to create newsstand events.”

That’s what they’re doing. By offering them in 3-D, Playboy is hoping to bring something to the table that the internet can’t.

“This particular picture is one example of how books and magazines are different (than computer images),” Hef told ABC.

Of course, as Mashable points out, “3-D images like this are easy to do on computer displays, too — though the readers would have to pick up some physical glasses on their own.”

The woman to appear as the 3-D centerfold is 51st Playmate of the Year, Hope Dworaczyk. Is she Playboy‘s last Hope?

I know this will make me sound like a mom who makes you feel guilty for missing dinner by going on and on about how long she slaved over that hot stove, but I’ll say it anyway: being a Dom is a lot of work. For starters, there’s a ton of shit to buy, and you’ll need a lot of practice before you’ll be any good at using it. When you finally find a girl who’ll let you tie her up and do all kinds of dirty things to her, you’ll have to ask all the right questions to really get inside her head, then identify your training goals and prep for your first session.

The session itself takes a lot more energy and focus than, say, the typical Friday-night romp with that hottie you picked up at the Roosevelt. And in the morning, you’ll have a giant mess of chains, rope, leather, dildos, whips, and butt plugs on the floor that’ll look like WeHo after a category-five tornado. To be honest, I still haven’t cleaned up from last weekend. So why do we put ourselves through all this? What’s in it for us? I can’t speak for everyone, but I’ll bet retracing the evolution of my kinkiness will reveal what that answer is for me. Let’s find out…

Chapter I: Giant Gorillas and Corpulent Aliens

You might say my first sexual influences were a tad unconventional. One of the earliest memories of my life is watching this old version of King Kong on TV with my parents, and I can still remember how strangely fascinated I was by that image of Jane with her wrists tied to those stakes. I was only three or four at the time, but I knew instinctively that this horny oversized ape and I were on the same page.

A few years later, George Lucas released a film that would inspire new generations of future pervs for decades to come: Return of the Jedi. Princess Leia didn’t really do much for me at age six, but the image of her collared and chained to Jabba the Hut in that skimpy little bikini is burned into my brain to this day. Jabba may be a bit on the heavy side, even for a Dom, but you have to admire his style.

By the time my hormones joined the party, I knew there was something very different going on in my head. I certainly wasn’t the only kid who had to plan sitting and standing around my ill-timed erections, and I was just as comfortable joking about the indignities of puberty as my friends were, but I learned quickly that the details of my fantasies were best kept to myself. I still thought about normal sex, mostly to reassure myself that I was at least somewhat normal, but at that age I could have jerked off to Kathy Bates.

Chapter II: Drunken Fumblings with Naked Girls and Ethernet Cable

In college, when I finally moved from the chalkboard to the field, I set out to make the most of the four key resources at hand: a deliciously pervy girlfriend who was happy try anything twice, a beer fridge well stocked with Sierra Nevada, one university-issue, four-post modular bed, and lots of Ethernet cable. Sorry about that Ethernet cable, Abby, but you know how it is: we just didn’t have the Internet resources back then even to learn about the proper equipment, much less buy it online.

Once the beers were uncapped and Abby was unclothed, my first step was to create my own living bondage porn. After that, my plan was to rustle up a makeshift blindfold, then maybe do something fun with the ice cubes in my fridge and the ping-pong paddle I had liberated from downstairs. It only took a few minutes to tie each wrist and ankle to each corner of the bed. As I looked down at this athletically-shaped pre-med, so exposed and vulnerable as she tugged helplessly at the high-speed data cables that held her in place, I decided to skip right to Phase II: fuck her and cum on her face.

About five minutes later (hey, I was 19!), as I wiped the sweat from my brow and stumbled across the room for another Sierra Nevada, I found myself asking what would become a pretty familiar question for the next few years: “Now what?”

With practice, I eventually developed the Zen-like discipline to resist fucking Abby the instant I finished tying her up, and I started exploring a whole range of exciting ways to amplify and intensify her helplessness and vulnerability. I realized that total physical control meant total sensory control, and by blindfolding, gagging, pinching, biting, spanking, and choking her, I could play those senses like keys on a vastly complex piano. At first, all I could manage was Chopsticks and maybe Jingle Bells, but you know how they say you get to Carnegie Hall: practice, practice, practice.

Chapter III: Graduate Study

Around the time I moved to L.A. and started exploring the local fetish community, that question popped up again: Now what? That was when I met Courtney, a sweet, wholesomely beautiful brunette with a razor-sharp sense of humor and an insatiable appetite for total power exchange. Suddenly, I had this tidal wave of fresh ideas and a diehard play partner at least as perverted as I was to try them on. It was the perfect storm, and soon I had the next major epiphany in my evolution as a Dom: I could use all these tools and techniques for the bigger-picture, longer-term goal of shaping a sub’s behavior and attitude to my exact specifications.

I took 24/7 control of Courtney’s orgasms, requiring that she e-mail, text, or call me whenever she wanted permission to cum. I taught her the verbal protocol and eye-contact rules I wanted her to follow, the slave positions I wanted her to hold, and the techniques of sucking and cleaning my cock I wanted her to use. When she was a good girl, I’d give her multiple forced orgasms until she begged me to stop. When she broke a rule, I’d discipline her with a wooden paddle or something else I knew she hated until she begged me for another chance to do it right.

With time, she learned to place my pleasure above her own comfort, to obey even the most unexpected and unusual instructions without hesitation, and to revel in her status as my property. When Courtney and I were enjoying these intense moments of intimacy, I felt a stronger sense of sexual fulfillment than I could ever have imagined, and purity of this fulfillment helped me uncover the real foundation of my sexuality.

And Finally…

For the vast majority of straight males, the female form is an object of obsession from puberty until death. For me, BDSM is the ultimate way to fully possess, savor, and connect with that object on a more intimate and intense level than most will ever experience. It is a lot of work, but then again, nothing truly worthwhile is easy. Now to put those damn toys away.

Our editrix here at Sex and the 405 has a formspring.me account where people ask her questions about sex — well, it’s supposed to be about sex, but you guys should see what people ask her. She really is the Oracle at Delphi reupholstered in KY-Jelly. Behold:

You’ve mentioned that you frequently work naked. I tend to work naked as well — or in lingerie, and in bed. However, I’ve been struggling with posture issues when working on the computer in bed. Have any tips?

This is a great question. While our editrix is obsessed with her posture (she has never had the best posture and has tried everything from corsets to rods to improve it), she is no expert on these matters. But lucky for you, her chiropractor Michael Dorausch at ADIO L.A. was kind enough to take some time out of his day to help us answer this pressing question.

“Hunching forward for long periods of time is one of top things that lands laptop users in my office regularly,” Dorausch told Sex and the 405 over e-mail. “If you take that same posture in bed, then there are the same issues. Add to that the reality that most beds are too soft to support sitting for long periods of time — not only is the upper back hunched, but the lower back gets strained as well.”

But what if you’re lying down?

“Make use of pillows to support your back, neck, and at times, to rest your laptop on,” Dorausch suggests. “With the right combos, you can get the task accomplished with little to no back strain. One more reason to have multiple sizes, shapes and thicknesses of pillows available.”

If pillow fighting in lingerie isn’t a good enough reason, think of your back!

So what’s the best position for working on a laptop?

“Sitting upright with the laptop on a table or some other support, is usually one’s best bet,” Dorausch says. “I catch patients sitting cross legged all the time, using their crossed legs as a laptop holder. It’s not something I recommend doing often.”

And what are some ways of reducing stress on your neck and back while working long hours at a laptop?

“Stretches are great,” Dorausch tells us, adding: “of course you want to be doing them properly. I’m obviously biased, being a chiropractor, but I think getting checked for postural and related computer activities is a good investment. Additionally, I’ve gotten good feedback from patients using yoga stretches and pilates exercises to build strength and flexibility in their spines.”

You heard the man. Make an appointment to check up on the damage and start putting that Wii Fit to good use on back-strengthening exercises. Make no mistake: an upright person is a sexy person.

You’ve had a pretty hum-drum at the office, so we here at Sex and the 405 thought we would spice things up a bit with a double shot of WTF science.

The following excerpt is from Graham Burnett’s A Mind In The Water, an article about the study of dolphins over time, which will run in the May/June 2010 issue of Orion magazine. The piece touches on the controversial work of neurophysiologist John Cunningham Lilly, who infamously tried to understand the bottlenose through LSD — and even sex.

Oh! That got your attention. Good. You need to wake up.

Over the course of his decade of intensive dolphin research, Lilly can be understood to have more or less sequenced through the whole battery of Cold War techniques for dealing with a tight-lipped foreign asset held in captivity.

Initially committed, in the late 1950s, to that spookish tool kit of techno-maniacal assaults on the cranium (picture a Frankenstein-like cap with electrodes penetrating the skull), Lilly gradually moved, at CRI, to less invasive approaches with his animals. But he nevertheless continued to draw on the playbook of those psy-ops intelligence services that shaped his early training in neurophysiology.

For instance, by the early 1960s he was testing code-breaking techniques, having been granted access to one of the very earliest programmable electronic computers, which he used to try to sieve recordings of dolphin vocalizations for patterns, deploying the same statistical methods as Cold War cryptographers. A little later he began experimenting with “chronic contact” scenarios, which involved “isolating” a dolphin in constricted quarters with a human agent, on the assumption that a conversion of loyalties would result.

To this end, Lilly even redesigned the St. Thomas laboratory with floodable living quarters, and initiated a set of long-term cohabitation experiments in which a male dolphin and a human female in a leotard and lipstick (to help the dolphin see her mouth move, of course) spent weeks interacting in a confined space. Lilly had her read Planet of the Apes to prepare for the work.

This sort of deracinating, intensive environment — colored with erotic potential — belonged, of course, to the world of counterespionage debriefings. Lilly did not explicitly advertise these dimensions of his project, preferring to talk of the need to treat the dolphin like a child, positioned to learn human language from the continuous attentions and baby talk of a new “mother.”

But he was by no means unhappy when an Oedipal scene unfolded underwater: with all the inevitability of a classical drama, this newest effort at interspecies communication eventually climaxed in what is probably the very oldest form of human-animal intimacy — sexual contact.

Pressed by an increasingly desperate Lilly to recognize that she needed to open herself to the dolphin’s solicitations (and warned by him against succumbing to the blinders of her own cultural preoccupations and psychological blockages), the young experimenter eventually decided that the randy and terrifying buckings of her imprisoned subject animal were themselves nothing less than his effort to communicate. In the protocols of her experimental notebooks she recorded coming to feel that her sharp-toothed roommate was doing the best he could to solicit her in a more and more gentle manner; it fell to her to meet him halfway, stroking him to a shuddering calm.

Lilly chalked it up as a victory for interspecies contact. But Swiss Family Robinson it was not. Neither was Lilly’s final effort to hear what the dolphins were saying, which involved the use of lysergic acid diethylamide, otherwise known as LSD.

“I go through guys like money flying out the hands. They try to change me but they realize they can’t and every tomorrow is a day I never plan. If u gonna be my man understand: I can’t be tamed, I can’t be saved, I can’t be blamed, I can’t can’t…”

You don’t have to add “in bed” to the end of the fortune in the cookie any longer.

Introducing Spam Fortune Cookies — and no, they’re not made out of SPAM. Allow them to explain themselves for your benefit:

A wise man once said: ‘The best advice you can get is the advice you don’t want to hear.’ If that’s true, then the more unwanted it is, the better it must be — right? So, logically, unsolicited bulk email messages must contain the greatest advice of all time. Combine this flawless reasoning with a delicious after-dinner cookie and you have a source advice unmatched by anything else in the world.

Every $9.00 package contains 20 cookies, each with some insane spammy message the likes of which you haven’t seen since you upgraded your spam filters.

If you’ve been a reader of Sex and the 405 for any period of time, you know that on Tuesdays, we run the diaries of Daisy, a woman on a search to discover herself as a submissive in Los Angeles vast BDSM playground. This week, we bring you the view from a different angle — that of a dom in the same space.

It’s a Friday, just after midnight, several years ago. I’m looking down at a head-turning blonde who’s kneeling on my Persian rug, wearing nothing but a black leather collar that’s locked around her neck, connected to a gleaming jeweled chain leash that has fallen to the floor between her perfectly-formed B-cup breasts. As I take in the view, a single thought echoes through my mind: “How did I fuck this up so badly?”

At age 25, having just moved to L.A. and started to explore the local BDSM community, I already had a few years of experience as a dominant in serious relationships, but this was my first time playing with a submissive in a more casual context. Kat and I had already spoken at length about her need for total control and strict discipline, but she was a few years younger, brand new to BDSM, and we had only just met.

The evening began fairly casually with our favorite HBO show, a nice bottle of Malbec, and the best pizza in Hollywood. When it was playtime and I told her to kneel and strip, Kat kept the first date tone going with some jokes and nervous laughter. I decided to let that slide until she felt more comfortable. Ditto for when she kept forgetting to call me “Sir,” which is a fairly standard rule in BDSM play.

I was just as accommodating when she told me to wait while she kept self-consciously fixing her hair, and by the time I had her chained to the front of the couch for some blowjob training, she was rolling her eyes and making ‘whatever’ faces at the instructions.

At this point, the wheels had come off, and I knew it was my fault. But how had I gone so far off track?

Comedy of errors

My plan for the evening was focused more on making sure this sweet and inexperienced 20-year-old didn’t have a bad first experience than on providing her with an amazing one. I wanted to earn her trust by demonstrating I’d always respect her limits and keep her safe, never pushing her further than I knew she could go. Problem was, by letting so many little things slide, I allowed her to dictate the pace and tone of the entire session — exactly the opposite of the power dynamic we both wanted.

While dissecting the smelly corpse of this sorry effort, I remembered an article I had read about something called the Broken Windows Theory. First introduced in the 80s, it asserts that serious felonies like murder, muggings, and illegal drug sales are much more likely to occur in areas with a high prevalence of petty crimes like vandalism and prostitution.

This correlation suggested to many politicians and criminologists, including the then-mayor of New York City Rudy Giuliani, that the perceived tolerance of petty infractions emboldens people to commit more and more serious crimes. This gave Rudy an idea: what if we were to crack down on petty crimes all over the city — arresting hookers and public pissers, painting over graffiti, and fixing those windows as soon as they’re smashed? He directed his chief of police to do just that, and by the mid-90s, this policy of “zero tolerance” contributed to the steepest drop in crime rates ever recorded in a major urban area.

New York City, once widely considered “ungovernable,” soon became the safest metropolis in the world. Like Rudy, I immediately recognized the applications of zero tolerance to another high-crime area: my living room floor.

Round two

When Kat accepted my invitation for a Round 2, I was determined to lay down the law. We started with dinner and drinks at a nearby restaurant. When we got back to my place, I told her to kneel and strip before I even closed the door. I tied her arms snugly in my favorite position, folded behind her back with no way of protecting her girl parts, then I read her the riot act.

I told her she’d speak only when spoken to, always addressing me as “Sir.” She’d keep her eyes forward, her legs spread, her pussy fully exposed and accessible for my use. She’d adjust any aspect of her appearance only when instructed. If she had hair in her mouth or trapped in her collar or gag strap, I explained, she’d just have to fucking deal with it.

Then I asked her if she understood. She nodded. Woops — mistake number one.

I immediately grabbed her hair, pushed her face to the floor, held it there with my boot, and started spanking her. Hard. First, she moaned. Then she whimpered. When she started squirming, I told her to hold her ass perfectly still or I’d switch to the paddle. Her ass turned pink, then red. Before long, her whimpers turned to sniffles, and I knew I had her right where I wanted her.

Grabbing the back of her collar, I tugged her trembling body back up to the kneeling position and asked her again if she understood my rules.

“Yes, Sir.”

I nodded my approval, then reached down between her legs for a humidity check. Wow, I thought. Mission accomplished. Kat’s performance improved dramatically over the next few hours. She did need a firm reminder from time to time with one implement or another, and as unpleasant as that was for her, I could tell she was as turned on as I was.

Body of work

Michelangelo once wrote, “In every block of marble I see a statue as plain as though it stood before meâ€¦ I have only to hew away the rough walls that imprison the lovely apparition to reveal it to other eyes as mine see it.”

As I’ve known ever since my first kinky experiences in college, the greatest challenge and thrill of BDSM lies in chipping away at the conditioned habits and attitudes of a girl whose body and sensations I fully control, ultimately revealing her inner slut in all its obedient and insatiable splendor. Every girlfriend, submissive, and casual play partner since then has taught me something valuable.

From Kat, I learned that the full realization of a Dom/sub dynamic is the result of a thousand decisions, each involving seemingly frivolous yet critical details, meticulously integrated into a work of art far greater than the sum of its parts. Still, it would be egotistical and incorrect for me to take much credit for the outcome. I didn’t create Kat’s inner slut, it was there all along. All I did was chip away the excess, and both of us enjoyed the process as much as the finished product.

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That Steam allows the objectification and sexualization of female characters in a variety of its games but refuses to accept a game about actually engaging with women in a more interactive fashion is astonishingly backward.

That the site doesn’t take measures to protect user content and has shown incompetence or negligence in regard to user privacy, all the while prohibiting victims from warning others about predatory behavior creates an environment where it is nearly impossible for members of the community to take care of themselves and one another. By enabling FetLife to continue espousing a code of silence, allowing the spinning self-created security issues as “attacks,” and not pointing out how disingenuous FetLife statements about safety are, we are allowing our community to become a breeding ground for exploitation.

Should people who benefit (parents, siblings, children, roommates!) from the earnings of “commercial sex acts” (any sexual conduct connected to the giving or receiving of something of value) be charged with human trafficking? Should someone who creates obscene material that is deemed “deviant” be charged as with human trafficking? Should someone who profits from obscene materials be charged with human trafficking? Should people transporting obscene materials be charged with human trafficking? Should a person who engages in sex with someone claiming to be above the age of consent or furnishing a fake ID to this effect be charged with human trafficking? What if I told you the sentences for that kind of conviction were eight, 14 or 20 years in prison, a fine not to exceed $500,000, and life as a registered sex offender?

If you are a woman, you might be given a chance to prove yourself in this community. Since there is no standard definition of what a “geek” is and it will vary from one judge to the next anyway, chances of failing are high (cake and grief counseling will be available after the conclusion of the test!). If you somehow manage to succeed, you’ll be tested again and again by anyone who encounters you until you manage to establish yourself like, say, Felicia Day. But even then, you’ll be questioned. As a woman, your whole existence within the geek community will be nothing but a series of tests — if you’re lucky. If you aren’t lucky, you’ll be harassed and threatened and those within the culture will tacitly agree that you deserve it.

Zak’s original field, it turns out, is economics, a far cry from the hearts and teddy bears we imagine when we consider his nickname. But after performing experiments on generosity, Zak stumbled on the importance of trust in interactions, which led him, rather inevitably, to research about oxytocin. Oxytocin, you might remember, is a hormone that has been linked previously to bonding — between mothers and children primarily, but also between partners. What Zak has done is take the research a step further, arguing in his recent book, The Moral Molecule, that oxytocin plays a role in determining whether we are good or evil.

Let’s talk about the strippers. Whether they like to be half-naked or not, whether they enjoy turning you on or not, there’s one thing they all have in common: they’re working. Whether you think that taking one’s clothes off for money is a great choice of career is really beside the point (is it a possibility for you to make $500 per hour at your job without a law degree? Just asking). These women are providing fantasy, yes, but that is their job. And as a patron of the establishment where they work, you need to treat them like you would anyone else who provides a service to you.

About

Sex and the 405 is what your newspaper would look like if it had a sex section.

Here you’ll find news about the latest research being conducted to figure out what drives desire, passion, and other sex habits; reviews of sex toys, porn and other sexy things; coverage of the latest sex-related news that have our mainstream media's panties up in a bunch; human interest pieces about sex and desire; interviews with people who love sex, or hate sex, or work in sex, or work to enable you to have better sex; opinion pieces that relate to sex and society; and the sex-related side of celebrity gossip. More...